12 Rounds

by Lauren Hammond

  “When he finds out.”

  Connie faced Aidan with an arched eyebrow. “About?”

  “Teagan.”

  His mouth fell open, but he closed it quickly. Aidan threw him for a loop. For the first time ever, he didn’t have an answer so he simply stated, “We’ll figure that out after we listen to her calls.”

  The truth was Connie needed Sean more than Sean needed him. He needed him to take this organization to the next level. He needed him to help keep the members of the brotherhood in check. The boy-o had friends, he had boxing. He had people who supported him, respected him, loved him. Connie was certain he had respect from the members of the brotherhood, but only because they feared him. Other than that, he had no one. Well except for maybe Aidan. Maybe. Sure Aidan was loyal now, but if something eventually went down with Teagan Reilly he wasn’t so sure that Aidan would have his back. He’d already voiced his opinion on not wanting to harm the girl if that’s what had to be done.

  Connie groaned with he thought of the outcome of this situation. And the outcome for Teagan would most likely be the same outcome as her father’s.

  But as far as Sean went, he figured that he could somehow weave a web of lies involving Teagan being the rat that Sean would believe.

  Possibly.

  Maybe.

  50/50.

  Not likely.

  No.

  Not a shot in hell.

  The more Connie thought about it, the more he realized the odds in these circumstances were not in his favor.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  ~Sean~

  The Fighter blasts through my ear buds and puts me in the zone. I hang my head down, my elbows on my knees as the melody moves through me. And I bob my head along with the beat.

  This song is relatively new, but it feels like my anthem. I wish I would have told Joe to have them play it when I walk out.

  If I didn’t have my ear buds in I know that I’d be able to hear the roar of the crowd bleeding through the walls.

  I’m kind of glad I can’t though. At the moment, I’m so pissed that I can’t see straight. Normally when I hear the crowd screaming my name I feel amped up. I feel a rush of adrenaline burst through me.

  But not today.

  Today I feel like fighting dirty. I feel like taking Avery Mullins face in both of my hands and sending his nose through his brain with my knee cap. Do you believe the jack ass accused me of taking self-enhancing drugs? Right before the fucking fight?

  It was during our weigh in, and might I add, I shaved off the two pounds I was overweight by, and now I weigh in at a buck seventy five. Anyway, during the weigh in he shot me a cocky glance followed by a smug grin. “You look really cut up, Reilly,” he commented. “I heard through the grapevine that you were testing out this new enhancer.”

  I lunged at him, and it took Murph and Joe to hold me back. “You fucking coward,” I yelled, taking a swing at him before Murph could restrain my arms. “You’re grasping at straws.”

  What I meant by that was that was his final attempt to try and cheat himself into winning the belt. Everyone knows self-enhancers are illegal and if I tested positive, he’d win the belt because I’d be disqualified. That would make my record 12-1 and knock me out of being undefeated.

  So not only would the mother fucker be stealing my belt, but he’d be stealing my pride as well.

  Joe’s lips were at my ear. “Save it for the ring, Seany.”

  If it weren’t for Joe, and Murph, I’m pretty sure I would have popped Avery Mullins in the mouth. An image flashed through my mind about what my fist connecting Mullins mouth might look like, and lets just say that image brought a smile to lips.

  A great big smile.

  Sparkly white teeth and everything.

  Needless to say, the officials made me piss in a fucking cup, the bastards. And after that I retreated to the locker room for some alone time.

  I think it’s strange how listening to music before my fights always soothes me. It’s like it speaks to my nerves and tells me you got this Seany. You got this. It doesn’t matter what I’m listening to, whether it’s classic rock, pop, even traditional Irish folk music has a way of latching onto me and calming me down.

  My thoughts shift.

  Switch.

  My mood twists from anger to curiosity when I think of Hadlee and wonder if she’ll be watching my fight. I like to think there’s a good possibility in that. I assume most of America will be watching it.

  The song on my ipod changes and Not Afraid swells in my ears at the same time Joe peeks through the door. “You had enough alone time?” he asks with a lifted brow.

  I pull the ear buds out my ear and wrap them around my ipod. “Yeah.” I stare at the blank screen of the iPhone and think about Teagan. She texted me when she got back to school so I’d know she’s okay. And I know she’ll be the first person I call whether I win or lose this fight.

  I asked her and Emerson if they wanted to come, and even though she said she wanted to, she said they couldn’t. Both of them had finals this week and I know they’ll be cramming. I smile at the thought of Tee in the library, studying.

  Always the studious scholar, that one.

  I follow Joe through the locker room door where my crew is waiting. Murph spots me, and with three steps is at my side, covering me with my black and red robe that has Right Hook silk screened on the back in bold, crimson lettering.

  I sense a pun coming.

  And a hard pat on the back.

  Finally Murph smiles as I pull my hood up over my head. “Knock em dead.”

  I laugh and fall in line as the traditional Irish folk song plays out, filling up the entire arena and everyone knows that’s my cue to make my grand entrance.

  The roar of the crowd is deafening.

  Yet welcoming.

  It’s a sellout .

  Not one empty seat in the house.

  People chant my name as the group of us make are our way to the ring.

  It’s euphoric.

  An out of this world feeling.

  As we enter the ring, I lock eyes with Avery Mullins. There’s hint of ferocity in his wide brown eyes, and a scowl on his tan colored lips. His trainer is rubbing Vaseline into his cappucino colored skin and a for a moment I get a flashback of the last time I knocked him out. I smile. Knocking this twat out two times in my life is going to be bittersweet.

  Joe preps me by putting vaseline under my eyes, putting my mouth guard in, then pulling me down by the back of the neck, he places his forehead against mine and breathes out, “Kid, you’re not a scapper. You’re not a street rat anymore. You’re the champion of the world. Now go show this asshole what you’re famous for.”

  With that I fist bump him with my gloves and walk toward the center of the ring.

  The roaring crowd grows louder. Their chants spike inside of me, pumping adrenaline through me, and I’m so hyped that I’m taking deep, deep breaths and almost growling. I shrug my shoulders. Roll my head from side to side. And bounce right foot to left. Then I repeat the process.

  I’m fidgety. Not because I’m nervous, but because when I feel like I have power that’s how I get. There’s some crazy thrill that stabs me right before a fight and there are times where feel like I could fly. There are times where I feel like I could just burst through the roof of the arena and touch the moon. This is one of those times.

  Mullins lets out a haughty chuckle, muffled by the sound of his black mouth guard and the ref meets us in the center of the ring. The ref’s voice fades away as I tune him out and give Mullins the stare down. The cocky prick nods at me with confidence and right before the bell sounds, I picture him as the fucking pervert who attacked Hadlee. I think about how I wanted to kill that pervert. And when the bell finally dings, I lunge toward Mullins, gloves up, a muffled battle cry exiting my throat.

  Then I wrench my right arm back and swing.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  ~Hadlee~

  Right jab.
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  Left jab.

  Right.

  Right.

  Right.

  Lara and I are in the bathroom getting ready for the night out for my birthday and she’s punching the air, trying to imitate Sean throwing punches. She hops up, throws both hands up in the air and announces, “And the winner is, by a knockout in the first round, still the middle weight champion of the world is Sean Right Hook Reilly!” She walks in a circle, arms still raised. “And the crowd goes wild! Rawwr! Rawwr! Rawwwr!”

  I giggle at the way she’s trying to imitate the sound of the chaos that ensued after Sean blasted Avery Mullins with a lethal right hook to the jaw. “That was pretty intense,” I say, putting the finishing touches on my hair with the curling iron. I’m wearing it curled tonight. I usually don’t fuss with it, but tonight is a special occasion.

  Lara stops moving and positions herself in front of the mirror next to me. She reaches for her tube of mascara and smathers it on her already long lashes. “Intense isn’t the word. Insane is more like it. I can’t believe he knocked that guy out in the first round.”

  “I can,” I mention. “The guy has a temper.”

  “Still.” Lara puts down the tube of mascara and picks up her nude colored lipstick. “Did you see the look on Mullins face?” Lara shakes her head. “They guy looked like he was about to shit his diaper.” I howl with laughter, shaking so hard that I accidentally burn myself with the curling iron. Go figure. I’ve always been clumsy. “You know I invited him tonight.”

  “What?” My eyes widen and I let go of the curling iron, dropping it on the counter.

  “You’re not mad are you?” Lara eyes me apprehensively through the mirror. “I mean he most like won’t come. He’s probably still in Atlantic City partying it up because of his victory.”

  “Oh.” That depresses me. Part of me thought it would be amazing to be able to celebrate my birthday and his victory together. I go and say, “I’m not mad you invited him. I just wish you would have said something sooner.” It’s always been like Lara to spring things on me at the last minute. I usually don’t mind because I’m a go with the flow kind of person, but with Sean being involved it’s different. I feel like every time I see him my attraction to him enhances and my connection to him deepens. “Plus I thought you hated him.”

  I notice that she rolls her eyes into the mirror. “I don’t hate him,” she professes. “I just thought he hurt you and you know how protective I am over you.”

  “Well thank you,” I say. “For inviting Sean and for always worrying about me. But I think you can ease up on the worrying. I’m moving forward in a good way.”

  She smiles at me through the mirror. “That’s good to know.”

  “I will admit I’m a little bummed out that he can’t make it.”

  “Don’t be bummed,” she says with a frown. “He did mention that he’d try to make it so there’s always a chance he might show.”

  “I doubt it. He’d probably have to rush and if I just won my title fight I wouldn’t want to rush home and see some girl I know just because it’s her birthday.”

  Lara shrugs and flashes me a quirky grin as she runs the flat iron through her hair one last time. “You never know.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The line for C’est La Vie wraps around the side of the building and stretches at least a mile down the sidewalk. Lara invited her friend Phoebe from work to come out with us too, and the three of us stand across the street from the wide red brick rectangular building with the cursive metal sign hanging over top of it. Phoebe’s red brown shoulder length bob swishes as she scans the line a second time. “To hell with this. Let’s go somewhere else.” There’s a serious expression in her amber eyes.

  Lara flashes us a mischevious smile and says, “Follow my lead.”

  “Lara!” I hiss as she quickens her pace, walking to the front of the line. “Lara!” My eyes sweep over the line again and I see a few people casting angry glances in our direction. It’s not that I want to be a party pooper, especially on my birthday, but I’d much rather go somewhere else than piss off a line of people that stretches on for half a mile.

  When we arrive at the front of the line, Lara positions herself in front of the tall, muscular, and bald bouncer with a clipboard. Her hands are on her waist and I notice her rolling her fingers, waiting for him to make eye contact. He never takes his eyes off the clipboard and utters in a low drawl, “Back of the line.”

  Lara throws her shoulders back, pushing out her chest and shakes her hair. I know her. I know what she’s doing. She’s going to try and flirt with this guy to get us in. I’ve seen it work sometimes. In school. When she’s at her job. Sometimes all she has to do is bat her eyelashes and guys bend to her every whim. Then she’ll say with a laugh, “Sometimes it’s great being a female. Too many men think with the wrong head.”

  Most of the time I laugh at the comment.

  Now is not one of those times.

  “We’re on the VIP list,” Lara insists and I grip her elbow, tugging her back, but she just shrugs me off.

  “Name,” is all the bouncer says.

  Lara peeks over her shoulder glancing at Phoebe who just shrugs then her eyes narrow on me. “Hadlee Flax,” she says her eyes still boring into mine.

  I almost start to panic. But I don’t because then the bouncer says, “How many are in your party?”

  Wait…What?

  “Six,” Lara tells him.

  With that, the bouncer tucks the clipboard under his arm and lifts the red velvet rope as cries of protest erupt from the people in line. I face the line of people and give them an apologetic wave. Not that it’s going to help any. I know the people in line are probably going to be pissed regardless, but it makes me feel better, knowing that I tried to offer some sort of apology. Then I follow Lara and Phoebe to the front doors.

  The bouncer nods at me as I brush past him and says, “Happy birthday.”

  How does he know it’s my birthday?

  He didn’t even card me.

  I give him an odd look for a second then yell, “Thanks,” from over my shoulder as I follow Phoebe and Lara into the club.

  The inside of C’est La Vie is mind-blowing.

  Epic.

  Like a time warp.

  I tune Lara out as she rambles on about sending everyone else who was invited a text and admire the décor of the club. All of the walls are vibrant reds, purples, and oranges. The bar has ornate, antique looking stools that are trimmed in gold. There are two stories of private balconies with red crushed velvet curtains and I see people hanging out on the upper ones, laughing with wine glasses in their hands.

  The waitresses working the dance floor are decked out in multi colored corsets, with fluffy can can skirts. A few of them have jeweled masks on. A few others wear feathers tucked in between their coifs of curls. My eyes shift to the dance floor and right in the middle is a glittering gold recreation of the Eiffel Tower.

  I feel like I’m on the film set of Moulin Rouge. One of my all-time favorite movies. I’m blown away by everything. Not only the décor, but the loud vibrating music. Couples laughing and having a great time on the dance floor. The flashing lights.

  The whole atmosphere is other-wordly.

  It takes Lara’s arm around my left wrist, tugging me in the opposite direction, for me to snap out of my trance-like state. I stumble behind her in the direction of the first set of velvet curtains on the left.

  A soft breeze tousles my hair, blowing it out of my face, and when I look up I see there are people on swings suspended from the ceiling, gliding back and forth in a seductive yet graceful way. That sight tops it for me. I can feel it in my bones that this is going to be one of the best birthday’s ever.

  There’s a sign next to the curtains of the first VIP room with my name in gold lettering. Lara and Phoebe’s eyes are on me and Lara gives me a slight nudge, urging me to push back the curtains and step inside. I do and when I step into the room I feel like I’ve been
blown away a second time. My mouth drops open. My eyes widen. I forget to breathe.

  The floors are tiled like a checkerboard and the walls are deep crimson, the edges trimmed in gold. On each side of the room are two couches with red, crushed velvet coverings and suspended from the ceiling is a crystal chandelier. I watch the light play with the tiny gem-like pieces and my eyes drift downward as they dance along the walls. There’s a black rounded table in the center with bottles of champagne and there’s a flat screen mounted on the wall in the back of the room. I’m baffled. And awed. I’m not even paying attention to Lara’s and Phoebe’s reactions, but I have to know. I have to know how this was possible. How Lara pulled this off. “Lara, how did you do this?”

  She steps in front of me, handing me a glass of champagne and look at me, puzzled. “What do you mean, Lee?”

  I look at Phoebe who is trailing her fingers along the walls then glance back at Lara. “I mean reserving a room like this must have cost a fortune. I mean I know you wanted to make my birthday special, but this is too much.” I’d never be able to afford to pull something off like this for her birthday. I start to feel bad because there’s no way I can repay her.

  “I didn’t do this.” Her face is serious. “If you couldn’t tell I was totally trying to wing it at the door. Hell, I wasn’t even sure we’d be able to get in.”

  “What?” I almost need her to repeat herself because I feel like she’s talking jibberish. “If you didn’t do this than who did?”

  Her eyes go wide and she shrugs. “Beats the hell out of me, but hey, I vote for us not speculating on who did this and just enjoy ourselves.”

  “Holy shit!” The squeak in Phoebe’s voice causes us to turn in her direction. She holds up a bottle of champagne. “This is friggin Cristal! Cristal for Christ sake! Do you know how much this costs?”

  Lara faces me with a wide grin and she grips my shoulder. “Lee, honey, I don’t know who did this, but it seems to me that whoever did wanted you to have a good time. So, if I were you I’d get started on that.”

  After everyone arrives Lara pours everyone a glass of champagne and we all toast to my birthday. I’ve had about three glasses too many and I’m already starting to feel a little buzzed.